Note:

Parts of this chapter are inspired by a story written by our very own GEETHR75. 

I sincerely hope I've been able to justice to her ethereal words! 

LOVE YOU GEETHA DI!!!!! <3

***

If there is one dimension that reflects its inherent constancy in its dynamism, it is always that of-

-TIME-

-For time never stops. Never does it cease its constant journey towards that one evident, yet unknown destination that it strives to reach in its existence as a dimension in the speck that one calls life. It is this dimension that obscures vivid dreams, this very ceaseless flow that blunts the sharpness of youth, this relentless journey that slowly and steadily wipes out memories as effortlessly as it endeavours to smooth any abrasions created by them.

Time, as it ends one phase, be it causative or consequential, seamlessly begins it way to another, led by the previous, the order of the two notwithstanding, they always are preceded and succeeded by one another.

Such is the way time operates in its course. In all occurrences time is the only one that remains a passive, yet active participate in its being.

It is its own afflux, that ends journeys to initiate another, one with a higher meaning and purpose.

Yet in all its dynamism, in all its transition, it chooses to leave somethings unscathed. Especially those that bond those who inhabit the realm affected by it.

 ***

'Pitashree!'- the voice of his five-year old daughter melted his heart, yet again, like it did everytime she came to him.

As did the sight of her tiny, innocent form sprinting lightly towards him.

'Yes, my dear.'- he bent his towering frame to gather her in his arms. The child comfortably settled herself in his lap, with all her authority.

This tiny female had The Crown Prince of Hastinapur wrapped around her little finger. To little Lakshmana, her father's royal stature meant nothing, as she could happily bend that mighty Prince according to her will.

-'I want to hear another story!' Lakshmana commanded.

Duryodhan clearly had no reserves of fairy tales to lure his daughter to sleep. But he had to have other measures that would prompt her to do so.

'Didn't your mother tell you one?'- he asked, -'For I don't know any fairy tales.'

Lakshmana pouted, in sheer dissatisfaction at her father's poor storytelling capabilities.

'Yes she did'- she pouted once more, -'but I couldn't sleep. And if Ma wakes up again,'-

She started wondering as to how she would describe her mother's situation when she'd wake up, from a slumber that stayed incomplete.

-'she'll cry.'- Lakshmana completed, after sparing a thought to her description.

A slight crease appeared on his smooth forehead.

She cries?, he wondered.

Had she not forgotten yet?, Duryodhan mused.

Five years since the Game of Dice.

Five years since she had distanced herself from him, because she had been grieved intensely enough to choose separation over staying under his gaze, and directly being reminded of his deeds in the Sabha.

Five years, and still those scars hadn't healed.

'Pitashree!'-

Lakshmana jolted him back to his senses.

-'What is it, my dear?' he lovingly asked her.

-'Why does Ma cry?' she asked.

How would he answer her?, his reserves of statesmanship weren't adequate to answer her infantile question.

-'Ma cries because, '- he thought hard, -'because she fears that-'

Lakshmana's eyes widened as saw her father trying to rationalize the action of her mother's crying.

-'Her little fairy would leave her.' he concluded, simultaneously arming himself for another question.

-'Where did Ma get a little fairy from?' came the evident question.

-'Oh!'- he had successfully temporised, -'that is one naughty fairy.'- he elaborated. -'One that troubles her a lot by waking up in the middle of the night.'

The child pouted once more. Perhaps she had a very faint idea of who that naughty little fairy might be.

She kept playing with her father's amulet. Her fingers softly caressed Duryodhan's huge, muscular arm as she did so.

She had taken after her mother in more ways than one, he smilingly mused. The resemblances were significantly much more than the semblance she held with her mother's physical features. Her innocence, that slight spark in her eyes, even the gait of her speech, she had inherited it all from her beauteous mother.

Duryodhan softly took her hand, that had been busy fiddling with his amulet, and placed a soft kiss on her fingers.

'Go to sleep, my dear.' he cooed. 'Your mother will be worried sick if she doesn't find you near her.'

Lakshmana frowned a little when her father tried to send her away.

'Sing me to sleep!'- came yet another command, -'Like Ma does!'

Duryodhan had somehow tergiversated when she'd put his storytelling abilities to test. But he certainly couldn't escape the request of a lullaby.

Didn't Bhanu sing them a lullaby every night when they were younger?, he smiled to himself.

For he used to prowl about Parashvi's quarters almost every night, when he wasn't in the balcony, at their favourite place or in the arena, venting his anger out on an iron effigy that he'd ordered to reassemble every time his strong, skilled hands broke it asunder. And the reassembly would only make it stronger, as the blacksmith had been ordered to rivet the edges in a manner that would be unbreakable.

That lullaby brought him relief. It made him believe that he had a life beyond the arena.

Beyond the throne.

With that beautiful woman he'd espoused. With those cherubs that symbolised his love for her. His heart lay where his twins lay sleeping beside their mother. His happiness lay when his son, Lakshman played with Bhanumati's curls, when Lakshmana kept pestering both her mother and her grand-aunt for one story after another. His elation knew no bounds when they would oblige to her endless requests by conjuring one tale after another, only to regale those stubborn children, to persuade them to rest-

-Yet the slight niggling of disappointment at his own absence from their peaceful, serene, little universe.

Quest for kingship knew no serenity, he had gathered.

Especially when the only source of his serenity had distanced herself from him, as Bhanumati now used to stay with Parashvi. Hence, such little pleasures of which they had dreamt together, were luxuries he could only admire from afar.

'Won't you sing to me, Pitashree?' Lakshmana blinked into her father's eyes, waiting for her request to be granted.

'Sure, my dear.' Duryodhan answered.

He gently began cradling her in his arms, softly swaying her from side to side, as his deep voice tunelessly found its way on a familiar lullaby, usually voiced by mellifluous melody.

He stroked the dark, lustrous silk of her hair, as they reminded him, yet again of her mother's night like tresses.

Finally, the child's stillness punctuated only by the steady breathing on his shoulder, told him that she had finally fallen asleep.

***

"Lakshmana!" her mother softly called, as he saw her come out. "Lakshmana, dear, where are you?" she asked, searching for her.

Soon, she saw her little girl nestled on her father's lap. He gestured her to calm down.

"Is she asleep?" she whispered to him, averting his eyes.

"Yes, she is. She fell asleep a short while ago." he whispered back to her, so that their daughter wouldn't wake up. His eyes were fixed on her, as if imploring her to look at him, just once, but she wouldn't.

She stretched her arms to adorn them with their little daughter therein. She could feel his urge to speak to her when their fingers had brushed while he handed the child to her, but she still kept evading him, like she had been doing, for the past five years. 

"Bhanu, will you come to our place?" he asked her, all of a sudden. She stopped, amazed, but didn't turn to look at him.

"Won't you come back, just for a little while, love?" he asked her with an intense tone of earnestness in his voice. She took a deep breath, still not facing him, thinking of something, while, she debated vocally answering her husband. Then, steadying herself, she left, while she could hear him saying,-

'I'll wait for you, Bhanu.'

***

Bhanumati laid Lakshmana, by Lakshman's side, while they kept sleeping, undisturbed. Then, she sat looking at both her children for a long while, while she hummed a lullaby while cuddling them, the same lullaby which her husband had hummed to Lakshmana, just a while ago. She was in two minds whether she would meet him, since, on one hand, she had a lot of things to say to him, and hear a lot of things from him in turn, and on the other hand, she still fostered a latent acrimony for him who had given consequence to something that could possibly lead to their doom. Her moral dilemmas were unresolved for the past five years, in which they hadn't even had a direct conversation.

'Why are you still awake, Bhanu?" It was Parashvi, with whom, she had stayed all these years.

'So are you, Ma.' she smiled. Parashwari sat up.

'I gather you've met him?' she asked her. Bhanumati sighed deeply, nodding in the affirmative.

'He's asked me to go to the balcony.' she softly said.

This distance from him, was far more difficult for her, than she exhibited in her bearing. He who was the source of her happiness, now caused her to house a conflict within herself, where she had to choose between love and her own morals.

'Do you wish to meet him?' Parashvi asked her.

And she didn't have an answer. For she was torn between the affirmative and the negative.

'For how long will you keep the pain to yourself, my dear?'- Parashvi lovingly asked her. 'He needs to know what you're going through.'

He knows, she thought.

When had they ever needed words to communicate?

But meeting him was necessary. And yet she wanted to keep him at bay. For she feared that she might end up forgiving him. 

'You must meet him, Bhanu.' Parashvi voiced her thoughts.

Strangely, yet naturally, Bhanumati didn't contest her.

'Ma, are you sure?' she asked her, in a manner of reaffirmation.

'I'm positive.' Parashvi replied.

Bhanumati cast a glance at her sleeping children.

'Don't worry about them.'- Parashvi smiled reassuringly at her. -'If any of them wakes up again. I have an inexhaustible reserve of stories to put them to sleep once again.'

Bhanumati smiled back warmly at the older woman, as she softly rose from the bed.

Some answers were needed, she concluded.

***

She found him facing her, with that particular smile fixed on his ruggedly handsome countenance, as if he had known that she would come.

Bhanumati was finding it difficult to hold on to her restraint. She had to exercise a lot of control on her feet to prevent themselves for running into his arms, at the very sight of him.

It wasn't easy for him either. To refrain himself from seizing her petite form in his arms and cradle her away to sleep therein, was a mammoth task.

Especially when the moonlight stood mocking at him as it brightened her heavenly beauty to ethereal heights. For it could touch her, unimpeded and with impunity, -

-while he couldn't.

'You can come closer, Bhanu.' Duryodhan smiled. 'This abominable demon of your husband won't touch you.'

She was still unsure if she wanted to glance directly into that intense sight of love that rested on her.

That sight would melt her resolve into oblivion. Once her eyes would meet those dark realms, all her restraint, all her silence, would break away, to allow him once again into the universe that stayed incomplete without him.

But could that happen without that one bar.

What of all that had happened five years ago?

What of the questions that hadn't vented themselves out on the night she had talked to him last?

Would she be unfair to the very woman that she was, if she'd allow him back?

Meanwhile, Duryodhan's eyes still yearned for her sight to reciprocate.

He wanted to quench his thirst for her, to drink deeply of her presence, as if he were a man parched.

But wasn't he? Wasn't he bereft of her? Of her beauty, of her sweetness, of her warmth?

But was any of that unaffected? Had her innocence not been affected when-

She had shown no affectation that night when she had distanced herself from him. Though she had never impeded him from being an affectionate father to their twins, but her interactions with him were limited only to the extent that she'd deemed necessary.

The distance between them, still stayed. Their gazes hadn't met yet.

'Bhanu!'- he called, further weakening her resolve of five years.

-'Just once, my love. Just once.'

Her dove-like eyes eventually, and involuntarily found themselves meeting his dark eyes. Her steps instinctively neared him.

Could he be the same man?, wondered she.

Could he be the one who had tried to-

Even now, she couldn't bring herself to speak of what he had uttered on that benighted evening.

'Why did you call me here, Arya?' Bhanumati spoke, finally, speaking to him directly.

'Won't you sit beside me, Bhanu?'

She couldn't deny him.

How could she? Why would she?

Denial was for those who were detached from one's own self. Not for those that formed one's existence.

'Such a beautiful night.'- he began, as the breeze found it propitious to let a small bunch of her tresses to caress her cheek, causing the onlooker to look at it with envy.

Bhanumati felt a tear clinging to her eyes. It was so difficult.

'Bhanu, please!'- he began, -'I owe you. I owe you everything.'

'Why, Arya?'- her voice quivered. -'Why?'

'That is something that has no answer, my love. Especially not one that would satisfy you.'

Bhanumati's eyes strayed into the palace gardens that were enveloped in the inky-black aura of the night sky, while the flowers stood awash with the all-pervading moonlight.

-'It does have an answer, Arya.' she said.

-'One that concerns itself with kingship.' he completed for her.

-'Yet,'- he continued, -There can be no forgiveness that would ethically condone that act, would it, Bhanu?'

The tear streamed on to her cheek.

His hand moved again to caress it away.

Only this time, she allowed him to wipe it away.

'Concerns of kingship do not warrant the molestation of a woman.'- she said, -'Why then did you become monstrous enough to mistreat her?'

'A woman's honour is a man's pride.' he said. 'To protect her is his duty.'

-'They were bound'- she interrupted.

-'Bound?!' Duryodhan hacked a laugh, -'By what? Dharma?'-

Bhanumati looked at him.

If only he could understand, she thought.

'I'm not asking you to forgive me, Bhanu.' he wove his fingers with hers.

'I would never ask you to forgive me.' he said.

Bhanumati did not say anything, she just waited, waited, to hear more. He was not justifying himself, in any way, and neither did he want to. 

'Dharma!'- Duryodhan breathed sardonically, an almost acerbic allusion of a laughter clung to his manner of speech.

-'So brittle in all its rigidity, isn't it, Bhanu?' he turned to her.

'Why do you hate them so much?' she asked him, once again.

She could never understand why he hated them to the extent of forsaking his own merits. It was because of this hatred that no one ever acknowledged his attributes as the dutiful the son of his parents, or as the brother who stood to be of an importance far superseding that of a guardian in the lives of his siblings, or as the husband who doted on his wife to the hilt, or for that instance, the father who became a child in the company of his twins.

And the benevolent king who loved his subjects in a manner akin to that of a parent.

And the fiercely loyal friend who stood by him even in the direst moments of his life, one who would jump to shield him from any insult hurled on his honour.

That benighted loathing curbed all of him. The father, the son, the husband, the friend and the ruler, stood nowhere in consideration when compared to the hatred he had fostered for so long for his absentee cousins.

'Kundaja was very young,'- he spoke in a faraway voice.

She looked at him, intently. It appeared as if he were speaking of another time, altogether.

-'Kundaja?'

He was one of her ninety nine brother-in-laws, only a little younger than her.

-'Bheem had deliberately broken his arm.' he said. -'But of course,'- he elaborated -'he had somehow excused himself by saying that he had been,'- a ghost of a latent anger crossed his face, -'playing with us!'

A look of acrimony crossed his face.

She remembered hearing it from her mother-in-law, when she'd been newly married to Duryodhan.

-'He repeated the same instance with Chitraka, a few days later. Once he had nearly drowned Vikarna,'-

Bhanumati felt something twinge at her heart.

-'I assume,'- he said, turning to her, -'you know the consequences.'

Of course she did. Somehow, Lakshman's face propped up in front of her almost in conclusion of his statement. An innocent child losing his innocuousness at such torture to his brothers.

Duryodhan standing with a bowl of poison in his hands, his eyes crimson in anger.

Lakshman with the bowl, anger in his eyes.

Her heart trembled.

She would have held the child to her heart. She would have told him how wrong it was. She would have wiped the tears in his eyes.

The child would understand. Why wouldn't he? She couldn't let those acrid tears stain his conscience with the dark taint of murder.

She wouldn't let his soul be blemished. She wouldn't let hate percolate into his purity.

'But I have been stained.' That child seemed to speak.

Duryodhan's warm fingers broke her momentary trance.

'Arya!'- she breathed.

Those dark depths of his eyes captured her, once again. She searched for hate, she searched for anger, acrimony, lust, treachery, -

-Everything that had catalysed his actions in the Sabha that evening.

-'What do you see, my love?'

Nothing that I'm looking for.

But, everything that I need.

'You're not'- she breathed, in an apparently disoriented manner.

Duryodhan's brows furrowed.

'You're not him.' Bhanumati spoke. 'You cannot be him.'

'But I was, Bhanu,'- he said, -'I still am.'

Then what was this dichotomy? Who was the one who had orchestrated The Game of Dice? And who was this beatific man, who she'd loved, to the extent of drowning herself into oblivion? Were they two components of the same person?

How could they coexist?

How could they be embodied in the same encasement?

And how could she love one and hate another, now that they were inseparable?

She was profoundly muddled. What elevated her dilemma was her apprehension of their future, that kept nearing, as an inevitable conclusion fortified itself.

'I would never have pledged you.' Duryodhan said.

Tears sprang afresh in her eyes.

'Why do you do this to me?' she asked him, defeated.

Duryodhan smiled.

'I love you, Bhanu.'- he spoke proudly. -'My dharma wouldn't allow me to pledge you, or any of my brothers for that matter.' -

He didn't need to speak it for her. In fact, he had made sure that none of his own would be involved in it, however remotely. Vasusena had voluntarily chosen to be involved, because of his similar instinctive loathing towards them.

-'But my dharma would certainly allow me to kill them if they dared to cast a wrong glance at you. I may be defeated, I might as well be killed, but that would certainly not impede me from protecting you.'

Never once had his eyes wavered from hers. She knew that look, reckless and possessive, yet gentle and endearing. Ever since he had taken her away from her swayamvar.

Falling in love with him had been as simple as it had been difficult. But then, it had been her own resentment that had made it difficult for her.

To keep loving him was ethereal. He was just so simple. Just what he was. He held no pretenses of his feelings, for he loved with a devotion in a manner that was as strong as the ferocity with which he'd hated.

But that hatred had now encroached into her peace of mind, for it had generated a deed that was vicious and unforgivable.

The prospect troubled her.

She had new nightmares every night. Some times it would be a never-ending stretch of the battlefield, with no one anywhere, and then suddenly thousands of screaming voices would impale her ears. Her nostrils would be full of -

-the reeking stench of carrion flesh.

Some nights, it would be a woman, hovering near the palace of Hastinapur. Her copper skin would be aglow. She hadn't known anything as beautiful as the woman she looked upon.

There was grief in her eyes. Profound grief.

And then, suddenly everything around her was on fire.

'If there is a war ever, Bhanu,'- she always spoke thus, her voice sounded so familiar, so warm, and yet so distant and cold.

-'I shan't remain unscathed either.'-

She would always disappear when those flames would engulf her.

'You have to stop contemplating the future, my love.' Duryodhan spoke.

'How can I?'- she tried not to let the knot in her throat reflect itself on her speech.

She wished to speak further. But-

-His sudden embrace silenced her.

'I must have troubled you so much.' Duryodhan spoke.

His warmth had momentarily disoriented her. That distraction had calmed her to a considerable extent. She felt his heart beating steadily against her own, as if beckoning her to follow suit. His chest, the comforting envelope of his arms, the soft signatures his breath left on her shoulder, were persuading her to return to him.

And she reciprocated, as her fragile arms wrapped themselves securely around his hardened form.

'I've missed you so much, Bhanu,'- he spoke further, his voice heavy. -'So very much.'

He had. He missed her presence in his chamber. Her soft, innocent, smile. Her sweet, ethereal voice. He clamoured for the warmth of her fingers when he was alone, as if he were a man bereft of air. He ardently yearned for her touch, when he found her side of their bed, longing for her presence. For, no longer would she subconsciously wander into his arms, while they slept. No longer would he find himself cocooning her.

They had both forgotten the comfort of an undisturbed slumber.

'Sleep with me tonight, my love.' he worded his request, earnestly.

She slightly released herself of his embrace, while they still held her close.

Their gazes spoke instead of their lips. He understood that she hadn't denied his request.

He softly braced his arms to cradle her, while easily scooping her therein. She kept her eyes closed.

It seemed like an eternity since she'd been carried by him, in that manner.

In no time at all, he rested her on soft luxury of that exquisite silk of their bed.

She nestled herself in his tender embrace once more, as he placed himself beside her.

No nightmares invaded her slumber, this time, as he pushed all her premonitions and her apprehensions away. No evaluations perturbed him either, as she snuggled in his arms.

A slight breeze washed over them, as if watching them in their peace.

There was time. He was ready for whatever consequence time had in store for him. 

For when could destiny be denied?

***

Notes:

1. This is completely a work of fiction, based on mythological references. If anyone comes across any errors, please drop in for rectification.

2. The names of the two Kauravas mentioned herein are based on a tiny research done by bluepannu94 , and a ficlet I'd come across on AO3 , long ago, which is:

The Amiable and Fortunate Daughter, by  Akshi.

link:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1096439

3. I'll never stop gloating on my severe Photoshop Frivolities, (nice name though, ;D HAHA! Sorry!), so yeah, the Photoshop Frivolity shown above, in the header image is:

MINE!!!!!!!!!!!!! :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Finally, here is another nifty of an update, almost eleven days after the last, HAHA!!!!!!!!!!! So, yeah, do scream, shout, holler, throw brickbats at me, LIKE DO WHATEVER you want, in here. And if this is a worthwhile update, do consider us to be worthy of that tiny gold star!!!!! 

EVERYTHING IS WELCOME HERE, WITH WIDE OPEN ARMS, AND -

CUPCAKES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <33333333333333333333333333

LOVE YA ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333